


to fall in love with a world unknown

by dragonsong (NekoAisu)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Fluff and Humor, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Moogles, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Patch 3.0: Heavensward Spoilers, Pining, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/dragonsong
Summary: He prays to Halone for deliverance that maybe (justmaybe) he will not be bested by the ever-growing stack of paperwork making a home for itself on his desk. The true enemy of freedom is bureaucracy and he feels a fool for having failed to free himself of it before changing the entirety of his home country.Collab art by @KrystaYvisual on Twitter
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel & Lucia goe Junius, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	to fall in love with a world unknown

**Author's Note:**

> A huuuuuuuuuuuuuge thank you to Krysta for letting me work with her for this collab and for allowing me to work with her WoL (yes, I know I've already said this 347865387453 times but I'll do it again)!! I had a wonderful time and hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I did writing it!!
> 
> [Krysta's ethereally soft Aymeric with assorted moogle friends that you should Definitely check out](https://twitter.com/KrystaYvisual/status/1276572811079880704?s=20)   
> 

Aymeric de Borel would like to say that he is an upstanding and pious man. He attends service every Tuesday and Sunday with his head bowed and hands clasped together. He prays to Halone for deliverance that maybe (just _ maybe _ ) he will not be bested by the ever-growing stack of paperwork making a home for itself on his desk. He has not known peace since the Warrior of Light (and newfound friend), Krysta Ylissia, had decimated the entirety of Ishgardian martial tradition and ended the Dragonsong War. What peace he had before was tenuous at best, but at least then he was haunted by a tangible enemy! He feels his heart sink an ilm with every petition Lucia places on his desk. The true enemy of freedom is bureaucracy and he feels a fool for having failed to free himself of it before changing the entirety of his home country. 

He would like to say he is devoted to his country with his whole heart and soul, but when Krysta lets herself into his office and says that he is being made to take a mandatory holiday, Aymeric can feel himself break out into a wry smile. Before he can ask how he’s to take a break when he has work to do, Lucia sweeps in and takes every last bit of parchment off his desk. Krysta positively  _ beams.  _

“I… Would that I knew where it is I can take holiday within Ishgard without politicking,” he finds himself saying. “‘Tis not easy to distance myself from the people and their needs.”

“We’re leaving!” Krysta chirps. “I know you have a lot of things to do, but if I can take breaks, so can you. I have two very special tickets waiting at the airship landing addressed to a certain Elezen and adventurer.”

Aymeric opens his mouth before closing it. He looks to Lucia who simply pats him on the back in support. He laughs, the sound tapering off into a smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I wonder who they could be,” he jokes. 

Krysta shrugs. Her voice is playful when she replies, “You’ll just have to go to find out!”

“That I shall.”

Lucia excuses herself and holds the door open for Krysta. Aymeric catches the end of her tail swishing back and forth in the same way his cat likes to when she’s in a particularly good mood. It would seem that he is not the only one of their party who is excited for the chance to travel outside of Ishgard (though, Aymeric supposes, it is likely more the opportunity to not be tasked with saving an entire civilization that has Krysta excited).

By the time Aymeric has cleaned up his workspace and made it from the Borel manor to the airship docks, the sun has begun to set. He left a good portion of his ornamental armor back in the recesses of his closet, much to the celebration of his aching shoulders, but kept most of the rest of his outfit much the same. While his robes of office are just that─a uniform─they are also made with dravanian siege in mind. He has no worry in regards to the cold. Though, after approaching the docks and spying no airship in sight, he begins to worry that maybe he took a bell too long. 

Krysta pops into view from behind what has to be the  _ largest  _ chocobo Aymeric has even seen and waves. “Aymeric! Over here!” she calls, nearly launching herself into the saddle to get atop the bird. 

He approaches slowly. The chocobo is very docile and does not even playfully peck at his hair like some of the Fortemps stables’ stock. Krysta leans toward him and holds out a hand, gesturing for him to take it. Aymeric attempts to mount and would like to say that he did not fumble at all, thank you very much (read: he fumbled. He fell on his arse and had to try again). 

Krysta giggles at his misfortune and red-tipped ears. “Not used to draught chocobos up in Ishgard?” she asks. 

“Not at all,” he replies. “This is all very new to me.”

“Feel free to say hi! She’s very friendly.”

Aymeric nods and then realizes that, due to being sat behind her, Krysta would have no idea he had even replied. He clears his throat. “Thank you.”

She whistles sharply once and by the  _ Fury  _ are they off with a start! He barely has time to hold on to the sides of the saddle before he is well and truly weightless. The chocobo’s wings are rather short in comparison to its muscular body, but that is by no means a trait specific to the larger breed. He can feel them bouncing up and down as the bird flaps, carrying them to wherever Krysta is guiding them to. 

Aymeric finds that he was right to depart without a bulky pack when Krysta reaches into the chocobo’s saddlebag and pulls out some cleanly wrapped rations. She passes one to him, inhaling deeply when they break free of the clouds that tend to shroud Ishgard. The sun shines across the horizon in brilliant gold and orange, tinting her silvery hair warm yellow. Aymeric wonders if she has gotten used to views like this─thin clouds stretching across the sky above and below, sunlight shimmering across the snow and water below to make washed-out rainbows, and the bracing winds of a world far removed from the stifling streets of his home─up until Krysta sighs and says, “I’m always awestruck. Every time I come back it looks even better than before.”

He unwraps the little rations bar to find… not rations. Inside is a stick of candied nuts and dried fruit pressed together and cured. Krysta chews on hers like it’s hard candy, crunching through it with abandon. She looks over at him and tilts her head as if to ask  _ “is aught amiss?” _

Aymeric takes a bite and is pleasantly surprised by its familiar toffeelike flavor. It’s akin to the candies he and Estinien used to filch from Alberic’s pantry during their days as Temple Knights. “It’s nostalgic,” he murmurs. “I haven’t had one of these since before the Calamity.”

“Really?” Krysta folds up her wrapping and tucks it back into the saddlebag. The wind whips her hair into her eyes whenever she turns to look at him. He thinks it’s just as charming to him as is his inconvenient for her. 

“I think it was… Starlight? The year after Estinien accidentally broke my wrist.”

“He  _ what?”  _

Aymeric nods sagely. “A small price to pay for friendship, I assure you.”

Krysta laughs, ears wiggling to match, and asks, “What other trouble have you gotten up to? Regale me!”

And he does gladly. His tales (only slightly exaggerated) eat through the time it takes to arrive at her destination of choice which… Aymeric is not familiar with. First off, there are moogles. Second, there are an alarming number of very large temples. And Third, as if he needed another reason to be excited, there is a campsite right where they land. 

He hops off of Krysta’s chocobo and  _ groans.  _ While he is more than grateful for the break, he has long since become saddle-sore. The flight over to wherever they are was full of sights distracting enough to disguise his discomfort. Now that he’s on solid ground and trying to stretch his legs? He’s fairly sure his thighs have never been this close to unset gelatine. 

Krysta stretches, tail rising along with her arms, and Aymeric worries that the startling click- _ crack  _ is somehow the island beneath them giving way and not her back. “Welcome to the Churning Mists!”

“I see a lot of mist and a distinct lack of  _ churning,”  _ he replies. “I take it the name is dependent on the weather?”

“That and dragons.”

He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again with a quiet little, “Are they quite…  _ comfortable  _ with my being here?”

She nods, unstrapping her pack from beside the saddlebag. “This is the campsite we stayed at together─Ysayle, Estinien, Alphinaud, and I. I miss her a lot and I’m sure she’d want to share this with you, too. You’re helping make her dream into reality, Aymeric. It’s very admirable.”

“That she could have lived to see it,” he says, looking out at the many islands peppering the sky. It seems more like a home for her memory than the frozen fields of Coerthas. 

Krysta takes his hand and points down the path. “We have places to go and moogles to see. Moogles that you should  _ not  _ threaten, I might add,” she says, muttering when she continues on, “which Estinien did not like.”

Aymeric gasps. It’s an inelegant sound, but Krysta only laughs. 

“Yes, your dearest friend, Ser Estinien Wyrmblood, threatened a moogle’s pom!”

“I… struggle to believe it,” he manages, “but it  _ does  _ sound rather in-character for him. He never was one for delicacy.”

They hike along the pathway, Krysta warning him when there are strange changes in grade. He is grateful for her guidance when it keeps him from stumbling over a nearly invisible cliff. She pats him on the back and says, “Personal experience is the best teacher until you nearly break your leg.”

“You  _ what?” _

“Like this afternoon, sometimes you get up to things as a young person─”

“Krysta, you’re not even in your  _ thirties.  _

“─and learn from those mistakes. Like the one that almost cost Alphinaud his entire coinpurse.” Aymeric catches her smiling out of the corner of his eye. 

The sun has long since set by the time they arrive at a rather peculiar cave. The way toward it is littered with strange, glowing trees. They look more like spun sugar than actual flora, if he’s being honest. Krysta steps up to the arched mouth of the cave and calls, “Hey, Moglin! I have a friend who would fain meet you! Is that alright?”

A moogle comes careening out of the dark, pom bouncing about with their frenzied dancing, and says, “Of  _ course  _ you can bring a friend! We missed your help with our chores! I mean,  _ very important problems.” _

With the moogle’s permission, they head inside. The dark of the Churning Mists at night is near enough to the light inside the cave that Aymeric’s eyes have little trouble adjusting. He treads carefully, lest he trip on one of the many exposed roots lining the way down, and still fails spectacularly when the sight of a  _ huge  _ moogle on a dais of glowing, cotton-like fluff makes his jaw drop. His boot catches on a rock and Krysta reaches out to steady him. Her hands are nearly as distracting as the sight before him. 

The king (chieftain? God? Empress?) of moogles looks at him and cheers. “A friend of the Warrior of Light is a friend of ours! Unless you’ve brought that smelly one, of course, but─ahem─any  _ other  _ friends are more than welcome!”

“It’s good to see you again!” She replies, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “This is Aymeric. He’s never been outside of Ishgard so I thought that having him meet you would be a good experience!”

Aymeric bows. He intends to be polite, even if he has no idea what moogles consider a good and proper greeting. It shouldn’t hurt to apply what he usually does and hope for the best. “An honor to meet you.”

The smaller moogles ooh and aah, swirling around him and poking at his clothing. One ducks under the hem and pokes around his boots, having a time of making faces into the plate metal. He stands as still as he can manage until Krysta intervenes. 

“They’re mischievous,” she says, prying one off of his shoulder. “Don’t let them bully you into being their errand-moogle.”

He nods, but the second she turns to converse with the moogle in her (very gentle) grip, he finds himself drifting. Between the creatures themselves and the glowing puffs decorating their home, Aymeric finds he has plenty to look at and enjoy. He pokes around and gets turned around more than once. He walks up to Krysta to ask about what allows the plants to glow when she slaps a hand over her mouth at the sight of him. 

He has all of a second to worry before she breaks out in laughter. The moogles chatter, some joining her, and Aymeric has absolutely no idea what in  _ Halone’s name  _ is going on. She looks up, opening her mouth like she intends to explain before cracking up once again. 

Aymeric surveys himself. Nothing on his arms or hands. Nothing on his legs or sides. His back is away from her. He pats his head and comes away with a fistful of moogle. 

“Hi!” they squeak. “I was pretending to be your pom!”

Aymeric chuckles. “I see,” he replies. “Thank you?”

“That was  _ incredible,”  _ Krysta says, smiling. 

“What? My pom?” He asks. 

“Yes!”

He shares a look with the moogle before nodding. They flip out of his hands and flit back up behind him, settling onto his coat collar, before calling, “Behold his beautiful pom!”

Krysta cackles so hard she wheezes. Aymeric thinks it’s one of the best laughs he’s ever heard. 

By the time they depart, she’s holding her hands to her face as if to force herself to stop smiling. He raises a brow at her adamance that there will be no further joking on this Absolutely Serious _ Tour de Aymeric _ Trip. Absolutely none! No more! Her cheeks hurt enough already!

“So by the Doctrine of one Saint Krysta Ylissia, I am hereby required to cease all tomfoolery? What if I am of the charlatan’s court?”

“Oh, hold your wit, Ser! I can only handle so much of your charms at once,” she complains. She kicks a pebble off the path as they walk. 

The campsite is the same way they left it, though her chocobo has laid down, head tucked underneath a wing. The fire is easy enough to gather kindling for. They settle down to one side of it with her bag open between them. Pulling out another bundle of well-wrapped food, Krysta passes him an allotment of bread and meat. She carves through a small wheel of cheese and an apple in short order, placing the pieces atop a doubled-over kerchief. 

They eat and talk more casually than they can within Ishgard. The city has eyes everywhere. Even within House Borel, he needs to be careful, reserved, and painfully polite. Here, within the ancient realm of dragons and those who came before, he can lick crumbs off his thumb without worry. He can also (and definitely does) steal a couple extra pieces of cheese without Krysta looking sideways at him. If anything, she encourages him. 

With food in his belly and the comfort of a dear friend at his side, he finds himself growing tired. He yawns, trying to stifle it behind a hand, and waves off her worry. He may be a little sleepy, but he would fain enjoy whatever else she has planned. 

Krysta, whether to ensure he gets rest or because she had planned it prior, says, “It’s late. I brought some bedrolls so we can visit Dravania tomorrow before returning.” She stands and rifles through the saddlebag before emerging with two neatly bound sleeping bags. She lays them out before patting one of them expectantly. “Into bed you go!”

“And you?”

“I’ll gather a little more firewood and join you shortly.”

Aymeric nods. He helps clean up the mess they created during their meal before tapping off his boots and climbing into his bedroll. He rests his head on his arm and looks up at the moon in wonderment. 

The view from Ishgard was so different. The one from here, higher than some of the tallest spires, is clear and bright. The moonlight is almost too brilliant against Krysta’s hair when she returns, silver on silver. 

After depositing her quarry, she does much the same as he did. Her ears flick and fold as she adjusts her position, automatically angling to avoid being irritated by the fur lining of her sleeping bag. 

They lay in silence. It’s not all too awkward, though Aymeric would like to say something in thanks, but he drifts off before he can decide on the right phrase. He whispers while half asleep, “Sleep well, Krysta.”

He does not catch her reply.

_ “Good night, Aymeric.” _

**Author's Note:**

> hi i just want yall to know that krysta is an angel and ya'll should give her all your love. i sure do!!!  
> hmu on:  
> Twitter [@khirimochi](https://twitter.com/khirimochi) OR [@TheHolyBody (NSFW)](https://twitter.com/TheHolyBody)  
> Tunglr @[Main](https://kiriami.tumblr.com) OR @[FFXIV Imagines](https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com)


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